Throb (Life on Stage 1)

“I don’t know, Miles, let me think about it.” How the hell did I get so involved in his crap?

“That’s great.” He perks up and smiles like I’ve just agreed to something.

“Don’t look so happy, I didn’t say yes yet.”

“No, but you will.”

“I have a meeting.”

“Thanks, Coop. I have to cancel the hotel by tomorrow … if you could let me know by then.” Miles walks toward the door and looks back. “Oh. I almost forgot.” He reaches inside his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a DVD. “Today’s daily. The last one-on-one date. Women are going to eat this shit up. He actually sings to his date under the moonlight in the back of a catamaran.”

“Who was his date?”

“Kate.”

The contents of the large envelope I finally tore open are scattered all over my desk. I’d hired Damian Fry to dig up dirt on Kate right after she told me she was doing the show because she needed the prize money. The envelope arrived the morning after we’d spent the night together. But by then, I’d flip-flopped back and forth a million times between needing to know and feeling like I was invading her privacy reading through what she was obviously not ready to tell me. Forcing myself to ignore the report, I’d shoved it into the back of my drawer, unopened. Until an hour ago.

The visual Miles left me of Kate and Dickhead under the moonlight this morning has left me unable to focus. Again. Everyone has some skeletons in their closet—I needed to harden my heart by learning Kate’s. I thought whatever was inside the envelope might help me.

I stare at the mess of papers—the dirt Damian Fry dug up on Kate. Well, not really on Kate—she’s squeaky clean. Which is actually pretty amazing considering the man she was raised by. It’s her father who got her into the mess she’s in today. Leaving her sick mother with enough debt to drown her. And her brother. Damn it. I’ll never be able to think straight in a day full of jam-packed meetings.

Sitting around the boardroom table, I vaguely hear the voices of each department head drone on with their project updates. My mind is somewhere else. A vision of Kate beneath me fills my head, her smiling up at me, eyes shining with emotion. But then just as quickly as it came, the vision is gone, replaced by him singing to her. She looks up at him with the same emotion in her eyes.

I thought not seeing it on the screen would save me from another day of picturing her in his arms. Damn, was I wrong. My brain has gotten more creative, deciding to play a scene for me to watch, even though it has no idea what really is on the video.

I make no effort to participate in the meeting. It’s a waste of my time and that of a dozen other high-priced people on my payroll. “Thank you for coming. See you next week,” I mutter, standing abruptly, and walk out of the room, leaving faces full of confusion in my wake.

Irritated with myself for my lack of focus, I decide to feed my obsession, even though I know it’s a bad idea. I walk into my office and head straight for my laptop. Helen follows me in, looking concerned. “Is everything okay? It’s only eleven and your meeting usually goes until at least one.”

“It’s fine. I cut it early. I have some pressing things I need to take care of today.” Yeah, like stalking.

I open the jewel case and slip in the DVD just as Helen begins to walk back to her desk. “Do you have Miles’s show schedule for today?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me when they’re shooting?”

“Sure.” She heads to her computer and comes back a minute later with a printout. “He’s shooting a commercial up at the rental house.” She looks at her watch. “It’s scheduled to start right about now.”

My jacket is on before she finishes the sentence. “Reschedule my afternoon meetings.”

“Really?” The surprise in her voice matches her face. I don’t go off schedule.

“Push them until tomorrow. I may not be back this afternoon,” I yell back over my shoulder, already halfway out the door.

My foot leans on the accelerator harder as my anxiety builds. The needle on the speedometer ratchets up to eighty, although I don’t even notice. My hands grip the wheel tightly as I weave in and out of traffic.

Her beat-up blue Jeep is parked in the circular driveway, jammed in with twenty other cars. I catch my reflection in the window—jaw tight, eyes set with determination, mouth in a taut line. The same way I look when a deal I’ve been salivating over for months is about to go south. I take a deep cleansing breath before walking inside.

“How’s it going today, Joel?” The director turns, surprised to see me again.

“Cooper. Twice in as many weeks. You must have a big investment in the show.” You could say that. And it has nothing to do with the one-point-two I loaned my brother.

“What are you shooting now?”

“Some footage for commercials. We’re going one woman at a time. Still waiting for the first one to come out of makeup. This one’s a bit of a prima donna.”

“Which one?”

“Name’s Jessica.”

“What’s the scene?”

“A kiss. Rough life this Flynn has. Has to kiss five beautiful women today.”

“Where’s Miles?”

“Last I saw him, he was giving one of the women a lecture on what her kiss should look like.”

I pass by the makeup and wardrobe room. Jessica’s in a chair, a team of frayed-looking assistants primping and priming as she berates them. I stop a stagehand walking down the hall. “Kate?”